mboost-dp1

SAY NR. 1!!!


Gå til bund
Gravatar #801 - AphexTwin
23. sep. 2002 00:05
Dette bliver en lang nat.


Det længste domæne i verden skulle efter sigende være følgende: <B>llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.com</B>, som uden .com er på 58 bogstaver og med .com, så bliver det til 62 tegn med punkummet.Ordet <B>pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis</B> er det længste i de almindelige engelske ordbøger og indeholder 45 bogstaver. Det er i øvrigt navnet på en lungesygdom.
The longest official word ever (1,913 letters) is the term for the formula C1289H2051N343O375S8
Methionylglutaminylarginyltyrosylglutamylserylleucylphenyl-alanylalanylglutaminylleucyllysylglutamylarginyllysyglutamyl-gycylalanylphenylalanylvalylprolylphenylalanylvalylthreonyl-leucylglycylaspartylprolylglycyllisoleucylglutamylglutaminyl-serylleucyllysylisoleucylaspartylthreonylleucylisoleucyl-glutamylalanylglycylalanylaspartylalanylleucylglutamylleucyl-glycylisoleucylprolylphenylalanylserylaspartylprolylleucyl-alanylaspartylglycylprolylthreonylisoleucylglutaminylasparaginyl-alanylthreonylleucylarginylalanylphenylalanylalanylalanyl-glycylvalylthreonylprolylalanylglutaminylcysteinylphenylalanyl-glutamylmethionylleucylalanylleucylisoleucylarginylglutaminyl-lysylhistidylprolylthreonylisoleucylprolylisoleucylglycylleucyl-leucylmethionyltyrosylalanylasparaginylleucylvalylphenylalanyl-asparaginyllysylglycylisoleucylaspartylglutamylphenylalanyl-tyrosylalanylglutaminylcysteinylglutamyllysylvalylglycylvalyl-aspartylsrylvalylleucylvalylalanylaspartylvalylprolylvalyl-glutaminylglutamylserylalanylprolylphenylalanylarginylglutaminyl-alanylalanylleucylarginylhistidylasparaginylvalylalanyl-prolylisoleucylphenylalanylisoleucylcysteinylprolylprolylaspartyl-alanylaspartylaspartylaspartylleucylleucylarginylglutaminyl-isoleucylalanylseryltyrosylglycylarginylglycyltyrosylthreonyl-tyrosylleucylleucylserylarginylalanylglycylvalylthreonylglycyl-alanylglutamylasparaginylarginylalanylalanylleucylleucyllysyl-glutamyltyrosylasparaginylalanylalanylprolylprolylleucylglutaminyl-glycylphenylalanylglysylisoleucylserylalanylprolylaspartylglutaminyl-valyllysylalanylalanylisoleucylaspartylalanylglycylalanylalanyl-glycylalanylisoleucylserylglycylserylalanylisoleucylvalyllysylisoleucyl-isoleucylglutamylglutaminylhistidylasparaginylisoleucylglutamyl-prolylglutamyllysylmethionylleucylalanylalanylleucyllysylvalylphenyl-alanylvalylglutaminylprolylmethionyllysylalanylalanylthreonylarginy-lserine.
Absolutely true.
Gravatar #802 - AphexTwin
23. sep. 2002 00:07


<B>En karpe (fisk) kan blive over 40 år gammel</B>

<B>Blot ved at have høretelefoner på i en time, kan øge mængden af bakterier i øret 700 gange.</B>

<B>Rotter og heste er ikke i stand til at kaste op</B>

<B>Eurypterider, en uddød havskorpion, kunne blive op mod 2 meter lang.</B>

<B>Barnacler, også kaldet langhalse, er det dyr i verden med den længste penis, sammenlignet med kropsstørrelse.</B>

<B>En pungrotte kan være lige så stor som en normal huskat.</B>

<B>Dengang englændere gik i land i Australien, så de et underlige dyr og spurgte de indfødte, hvad de hed. De indfødte, som ikke forstod engelsk, svarede "Kanguru", som betyder "jeg forstår ikke, hvad du siger". Så faktisk hedder en kænguru: Jeg forstår ikke, hvad du siger.</B>

<B>En undersøgelse om hvordan folk mister deres mobiltelefoner, viser at ca. 4 % af alle mistede mobiltelefoner i England blev spist af hunde. </B>

<B>En gennemsnitlig bananflue bliver voksen i løbet af godt 2 uger og måler som fuldt udvokset ca 3 mm. Hunnen lægger omkring 400 æg i hvert kuld.</B>

<B>Det tungeste svin, man hidtil har kendt til, var en orne kaldet "Big Bill", som døde i staten Tennessee, USA, i 1933. Svinet vejede ikke mindre end 1.157,5 kg, målte 2,74 m. udstrakt og var 1,52 m. i skulderhøjde.</B>

<B>Der findes ca. 500 millioner bakterier pr. gram jord uanset ph-forhold. Der ud over findes der ca. 500.000 svampe pr. gram jord i en alm. dansk jord.</B>

<B>Den første bombe som de allierede smed over Berlin under 2. Verdenskrig dræbte den eneste elefant i Berlins zoo.</B>

<B>Verdens ældste fossile afføring er 600 millioner år gammel og er to cm lang. Ekskrementet blev fundet på øen Islay ved Skotlands vestkyst.</B>

<B>Et af verdens mest frygtede dyr, Hajen, er slet ikke så farlig som den ser ud til. På verdens plan angribes kun 100 mennesker om året og over halvdelen overlever.</B>

<B>Verdens største fugleæg kommer fra strudsen. De store fugle lægger æg, som vejer over 1,5 kg.</B>

<B>Forskere ved ikke med sikkerhed hvilke farver dinosaurerne havde.</B>

<B>I det danske vadehav lever der ca. 10.000 dønsnegle (Mikrobia) pr. kvadratmeter sand.</B>

<B>Det længste en høne nogensinde har "overlevet" efter at hovedet er hugget af er 17 døgn. Med overlevet menes at nerverne i høne gør at eks. vingerne og benene stadig bevæger sig.</B>

<B>På et døgn kan en bakterie dele sig (formering), hvis der er gode vækstbetingelser og intet hæmmende, til 4.722.366.500.000.000.000.000 nye bakterier, der ca. ville veje 1000 tons.</B>

<B>25 % af USA’s samlede andebestand overvintre i New Orleans.</B>

<B>Australien er hjem for ikke færre end 132 millioner får. I gennemsnit er der otte får for hver australier. Men får er nu ikke en sjældenhed på de kanter, for i New Zealand er der hele 17 får pr. indbygger.</B>

<B>Fornyelig har amerikanske forskere fundet 7 myre i en klump rav, alder ca. 92 millioner år, hvilket er over 50 millioner år mere end man tidligere har troede at myre havde eksisteret.</B>

<B>Hver fjerde indbygger på jorden er en bille, hvilket gør dem til jordens mest succesrige skabning. Der er optalt 350.000 arter, men dagligt kommer der flere til.</B>

<B>Hvaler sover med en hjernehalvdel ad gangen. Så er der hele tiden en vågen halvdel til at passe bl.a. vejrtrækningen.</B>

<B>Verdens tungeste insekt er en afrikansk goliatbille der kan veje op til 100 gram.</B>

<B>Verdens bredeste insekt er den tropiske dronning Alexandras fuglevinge-sommerfugl med et vingefang på over 30 cm.</B>

<B>Verdens længste insekt er den tropiske Kirbys vandrende pind med en kropslængde på 32,8 cm, med udstrakte ben måler den over en halv meter.</B>

<B>En voksen hanelefant spiser op til 270 kilo føde om dagen.</B>

<B>De store menneskeaber har 98 % af deres arvemasse til fælles med mennesket.</B>

<B>Elefanter har den længste drægtighed på ca. 609 dage, men i enkelte tilfælde har indiske elefanter ventet 760 dage - altså over to år - på at føde sin unge.</B>

<B>Hvis alle verdens bier blev udryddet, ville mindst 100.000 forskellige plantearter også forsvinde.</B>

<B>Verdens hurtigste fugl; Den hvidbrystede tornhalesejler flyver med 171 km/t; Vandrefalken styrtdykker med op til 200 km/t; Strudsen løber med ca. 72 km/t; Æselpingvin svømmer med op til 35 km/t.</B>
Gravatar #803 - K_Jr
23. sep. 2002 07:41
I were #803, and all I got, was this lousy post ... :D
Gravatar #804 - BurningShadow
23. sep. 2002 08:00
Jeg overvejer hvad jeg nu skal poste... Det kunne jo være...
Gravatar #805 - Gruesome
23. sep. 2002 11:12
#!/bin/sh
#
# rc.firewall - DHCP IP Firewall script for Linux 2.4.x and iptables
#
# Copyright (C) 2001 Oskar Andreasson
#
# This program is free software; you can redistribute it and/or modify
# it under the terms of the GNU General Public License as published by
# the Free Software Foundation; version 2 of the License.
#
# This program is distributed in the hope that it will be useful,
# but WITHOUT ANY WARRANTY; without even the implied warranty of
# MERCHANTABILITY or FITNESS FOR A PARTICULAR PURPOSE. See the
# GNU General Public License for more details.
#
# You should have received a copy of the GNU General Public License
# along with this program or from the site that you downloaded it
# from; if not, write to the Free Software Foundation, Inc., 59 Temple
# Place, Suite 330, Boston, MA 02111-1307 USA
#

###########################################################################
#
# 1. Configuration options - use these to quicken up the set up.
#

###########################################################################
#
# Local Area Network configuration.
#
# your LAN's IP range and localhost IP. /24 means to only use the first 24
# bits of the 32 bit IP adress. the same as netmask 255.255.255.0
#

LAN_IP="192.168.0.2"
LAN_IP_RANGE="192.168.0.0/16"
LAN_BCAST_ADRESS="192.168.0.255"
LAN_IFACE="eth1"

###########################################################################
#
# Localhost configuration.
#
# Localhost Interface and IP. Should not need any changes.
#

LO_IFACE="lo"
LO_IP="127.0.0.1"

###########################################################################
#
# Internet configuration.
#
# All information pertaining to the Internet and the Internet connection.
#

INET_IFACE="eth0"

###########################################################################
#
# DHCP Configuration.
#
# Information pertaining to DHCP over the Internet, if needed.
#
# Set DHCP variable to No if you don't get IP from DHCP. If you get DHCP
# over the Internet set this variable to Yes, and set up the proper IP
# adress for the DHCP server in the DHCP_SERVER variable.
#

DHCP="No"
DHCP_SERVER="195.22.90.65"

###########################################################################
#
# PPPOE Configuration.
#
# Configuration options pertaining to PPPoE.
#
# If you have problem with your PPPoE connection, such as large mails not
# getting through while small mail get through properly etc, you may set
# this option to "yes" which may fix the problem. This option will set a
# rule in the PREROUTING chain of the mangle table which will clamp
# (resize) all routed packets to PMTU (Path Maximum Transmit Unit).
#
# Note that it is better to set this up in the PPPoE package itself, since
# the PPPoE configuration option will give less overhead.
#

PPPOE_PMTU="No"

###########################################################################
#
# IPTABLES configuration.
#
# Options pertaining to iptables such as searchpath, etc.
#

IPTABLES="/usr/sbin/iptables"

###########################################################################
#
# 2. Module loading.
#

#
# Needed to initially load modules
#
/sbin/depmod -a

#
# Adds some iptables targets like LOG, REJECT and MASQUARADE.
#
/sbin/modprobe ipt_LOG
#/sbin/modprobe ipt_REJECT
/sbin/modprobe ipt_MASQUERADE

#
# Support for owner matching
#
#/sbin/modprobe ipt_owner

#
# Support for connection tracking of FTP and IRC.
#
#/sbin/modprobe ip_conntrack_ftp
#/sbin/modprobe ip_conntrack_irc

###########################################################################
#
# 3. /proc set up.
#
# Enable ip_forward if you have two or more networks, including the
# Internet, that needs forwarding of packets through this box. This is
# critical since it is turned off as default in Linux.
#

echo "1" > /proc/sys/net/ipv4/ip_forward

#
# Dynamic IP users:
#
#echo "1" > /proc/sys/net/ipv4/ip_dynaddr

###########################################################################
#
# 4. IPTables rules set up.
#
# Set default policies for the INPUT, FORWARD and OUTPUT chains
#

$IPTABLES -P INPUT DROP
$IPTABLES -P OUTPUT DROP
$IPTABLES -P FORWARD DROP

#
# bad_tcp_packets chain
#
# Take care of bad TCP packets that we don't want.
#

$IPTABLES -N bad_tcp_packets
$IPTABLES -A bad_tcp_packets -p tcp ! --syn -m state --state NEW -j LOG
--log-prefix "New not syn:"
$IPTABLES -A bad_tcp_packets -p tcp ! --syn -m state --state NEW -j DROP

#
# Do some checks for obviously spoofed IP's
#

$IPTABLES -A bad_tcp_packets -i $INET_IFACE -s 192.168.0.0/16 -j DROP
$IPTABLES -A bad_tcp_packets -i $INET_IFACE -s 10.0.0.0/8 -j DROP
$IPTABLES -A bad_tcp_packets -i $INET_IFACE -s 172.16.0.0/12 -j DROP

#
# Create separate chains for ICMP, TCP and UDP to traverse
#

$IPTABLES -N icmp_packets
$IPTABLES -N tcp_packets
$IPTABLES -N udpincoming_packets

#
# The allowed chain for TCP connections
#

$IPTABLES -N allowed
$IPTABLES -A allowed -p TCP --syn -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A allowed -p TCP -m state --state ESTABLISHED,RELATED -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A allowed -p TCP -j DROP

#
# ICMP rules
#

# Changed rules totally
$IPTABLES -A icmp_packets -p ICMP -s 0/0 --icmp-type 8 -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A icmp_packets -p ICMP -s 0/0 --icmp-type 11 -j ACCEPT

#
# TCP rules
#

$IPTABLES -A tcp_packets -p TCP -s 0/0 --dport 21 -j allowed
$IPTABLES -A tcp_packets -p TCP -s 0/0 --dport 22 -j allowed
$IPTABLES -A tcp_packets -p TCP -s 0/0 --dport 80 -j allowed
$IPTABLES -A tcp_packets -p TCP -s 0/0 --dport 113 -j allowed

#
# UDP ports
#

$IPTABLES -A udpincoming_packets -p UDP -s 0/0 --source-port 53 -j ACCEPT
if [ $DHCP -eq "yes" ] ; then
$IPTABLES -A udpincoming_packets -p UDP -s $DHCP_SERVER --sport 67
--dport 68 -j ACCEPT
fi
$IPTABLES -A udpincoming_packets -p UDP -s 0/0 --source-port 123 -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A udpincoming_packets -p UDP -s 0/0 --source-port 2074 -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A udpincoming_packets -p UDP -s 0/0 --source-port 4000 -j ACCEPT

#
# POSTROUTING chain in the nat table
#

if [ $PPPOE_PMTU -eq "yes" ] ; then
$IPTABLES -t nat -A POSTROUTING -p tcp --tcp-flags SYN,RST SYN
-j TCPMSS --clamp-mss-to-pmtu
fi
$IPTABLES -t nat -A POSTROUTING -o $INET_IFACE -j MASQUERADE

#
# Bad TCP packets we don't want
#

$IPTABLES -A FORWARD -p tcp -j bad_tcp_packets

#
# Accept the packets we actually want to forward
#

$IPTABLES -A FORWARD -i $LAN_IFACE -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A FORWARD -m state --state ESTABLISHED,RELATED -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A FORWARD -m limit --limit 3/minute --limit-burst 3
-j LOG --log-level DEBUG --log-prefix "IPT FORWARD packet died: "

#
# INPUT chain
#
# Bad TCP packets we don't want
#

$IPTABLES -A INPUT -p tcp -j bad_tcp_packets


#
# Rules for incoming packets from the internet
#

$IPTABLES -A INPUT -p ICMP -i $INET_IFACE -j icmp_packets
$IPTABLES -A INPUT -p TCP -i $INET_IFACE -j tcp_packets
$IPTABLES -A INPUT -p UDP -i $INET_IFACE -j udpincoming_packets

#
# Rules for special networks not part of the Internet
#

$IPTABLES -A INPUT -p ALL -i $LO_IFACE -d $LO_IP -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A INPUT -p ALL -i $LO_IFACE -s $LAN_IP -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A INPUT -p ALL -i $LO_IFACE -s $INET_IP -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A INPUT -p ALL -i $LAN_IFACE -s $LAN_IP_RANGE -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A INPUT -p ALL -i $INET_IFACE -m state
--state ESTABLISHED,RELATED -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A INPUT -m limit --limit 3/minute --limit-burst 3
-j LOG --log-level DEBUG --log-prefix "IPT INPUT packet died: "

#
# OUTPUT chain
#
# Bad TCP packets we don't want
#

$IPTABLES -A OUTPUT -p tcp -j bad_tcp_packets


$IPTABLES -A OUTPUT -p ALL -s $LO_IP -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A OUTPUT -p ALL -o $LAN_IFACE -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A OUTPUT -p ALL -o $INET_IFACE -j ACCEPT
$IPTABLES -A OUTPUT -m limit --limit 3/minute --limit-burst 3
-j LOG --log-level DEBUG --log-prefix "IPT OUTPUT packet died: "



Hvorfor fanden kan jeg ikke få det til at virke på min server?! Og hvordan sætter jeg den op til at den automatisk skal finde IP'en til DHCP serveren (der skal rettes et par ting i, men er der nogen der har et forslag?!
Gravatar #806 - T-Hawk
23. sep. 2002 11:29
I'm back but only for a short wile...
Gravatar #807 - Gruesome
23. sep. 2002 11:40
Det hedder [While] NÅ! :DD
Gravatar #808 - Gruesome
23. sep. 2002 11:41
Det hedder [While] NÅ! :DD
Gravatar #809 - BurningShadow
23. sep. 2002 11:43
I'll be back...
Gravatar #810 - BurningShadow
23. sep. 2002 11:44
...I'm back ;)
Gravatar #811 - BurningShadow
23. sep. 2002 13:29
Her er lidt forskellige tal.
Hvis nogen af jer har en kedelig dag, så se lige efter om jeg har lavet nogle fejl.


2
4
8
16
32
64
128
256
- End of 8 bit -

512
1.024
2.048
4.096
8.192
16.384
32.768
65.536
- End of 16 bit -

131.072
262.144
524.288
1.028.576
2.097.152
4.194.304
8.388.608
16.777.216
- End of 24 bit -

33.554.432
67.108.864
134.217.728
268.435.456
536.870.912
1.073.741.824
2.147.483.648
4.294.967.296
- End of 32 bit -

8.589.934.592
17.179.869.184
34.359.738.368
68.719.476.736
137.438.953.472
274.877.906.944
549.755.813.888
1.099.511.627.776
- End of 40 bit -

2.199.023.255.552
4.398.046.511.104
8.796.093.022.208
17.592.186.044.416
35.184.372.088.832
70.368.744.177.664
140.737.488.355.328
281.474.976.710.656
- End of 48 bit -
Gravatar #812 - Simm
23. sep. 2002 15:14
Pfff..er I kun nået til...øh...812?
Gravatar #813 - funkymonkey
23. sep. 2002 15:37
#812
Er du blind? vi er da nået til #813
Gravatar #814 - funkymonkey
23. sep. 2002 15:40
Sikke noget vrøvl jeg skriver, vi er nået til #814
Gravatar #815 - Gruesome
23. sep. 2002 17:08
Last Post!!! Hahahah, i pwn j00 all! :)
Gravatar #816 - PlattFuss6.7
23. sep. 2002 19:30
Fuck den her tråd er ikke til at læse i mozilla :(
Gravatar #817 - funkymonkey
23. sep. 2002 19:36
fucker din mozilla også op? i det mindste er jeg ikke alene
Gravatar #818 - Bobby
23. sep. 2002 20:48
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Gravatar #819 - Gruesome
23. sep. 2002 21:42
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Gravatar #820 - Gruesome
23. sep. 2002 21:51
The house stood on a slight rise just on the edge of the village.It stood on its own and looked over a broad spread of WestCountry farmland. Not a remarkable house by any means - it wasabout thirty years old, squattish, squarish, made of brick, andhad four windows set in the front of a size and proportion whichmore or less exactly failed to please the eye. The only person for whom the house was in any way special wasArthur Dent, and that was only because it happened to be the onehe lived in. He had lived in it for about three years, ever sincehe had moved out of London because it made him nervous andirritable. He was about thirty as well, dark haired and neverquite at ease with himself. The thing that used to worry him mostwas the fact that people always used to ask him what he waslooking so worried about. He worked in local radio which healways used to tell his friends was a lot more interesting thanthey probably thought. It was, too - most of his friends workedin advertising. It hadn't properly registered with Arthur that the council wantedto knock down his house and build an bypass instead. At eight o'clock on Thursday morning Arthur didn't feel verygood. He woke up blearily, got up, wandered blearily round hisroom, opened a window, saw a bulldozer, found his slippers, andstomped off to the bathroom to wash. Toothpaste on the brush - so. Scrub. Shaving mirror - pointing at the ceiling. He adjusted it. For amoment it reflected a second bulldozer through the bathroomwindow. Properly adjusted, it reflected Arthur Dent's bristles.He shaved them off, washed, dried, and stomped off to the kitchento find something pleasant to put in his mouth. Kettle, plug, fridge, milk, coffee. Yawn. The word bulldozer wandered through his mind for a moment insearch of something to connect with. The bulldozer outside the kitchen window was quite a big one. He stared at it. "Yellow," he thought and stomped off back to his bedroom to getdressed. Passing the bathroom he stopped to drink a large glass of water,and another. He began to suspect that he was hung over. Why washe hung over? Had he been drinking the night before? He supposedthat he must have been. He caught a glint in the shaving mirror."Yellow," he thought and stomped on to the bedroom. He stood and thought. The pub, he thought. Oh dear, the pub. Hevaguely remembered being angry, angry about something that seemedimportant. He'd been telling people about it, telling peopleabout it at great length, he rather suspected: his clearestvisual recollection was of glazed looks on other people's faces.Something about a new bypass he had just found out about. It hadbeen in the pipeline for months only no one seemed to have knownabout it. Ridiculous. He took a swig of water. It would sortitself out, he'd decided, no one wanted a bypass, the councildidn't have a leg to stand on. It would sort itself out. God what a terrible hangover it had earned him though. He lookedat himself in the wardrobe mirror. He stuck out his tongue."Yellow," he thought. The word yellow wandered through his mindin search of something to connect with. Fifteen seconds later he was out of the house and lying in frontof a big yellow bulldozer that was advancing up his garden path. Mr L Prosser was, as they say, only human. In other words he wasa carbon-based bipedal life form descended from an ape. More specifically he was forty, fat and shabby and worked for thelocal council. Curiously enough, though he didn't know it, hewas also a direct male-line descendant of Genghis Khan, thoughintervening generations and racial mixing had so juggled hisgenes that he had no discernible Mongoloid characteristics, andthe only vestiges left in Mr L Prosser of his mighty ancestrywere a pronounced stoutness about the tum and a predilection for little fur hats. He was by no means a great warrior: in fact he was a nervousworried man. Today he was particularly nervous and worriedbecause something had gone seriously wrong with his job - whichwas to see that Arthur Dent's house got cleared out of the waybefore the day was out. "Come off it, Mr Dent,", he said, "you can't win you know. Youcan't lie in front of the bulldozer indefinitely." He tried tomake his eyes blaze fiercely but they just wouldn't do it. Arthur lay in the mud and squelched at him. "I'm game," he said, "we'll see who rusts first." "I'm afraid you're going to have to accept it," said Mr Prossergripping his fur hat and rolling it round the top of his head,"this bypass has got to be built and it's going to be built!" "First I've heard of it," said Arthur, "why's it going to bebuilt?" Mr Prosser shook his finger at him for a bit, then stopped andput it away again. "What do you mean, why's it got to be built?" he said. "It's abypass. You've got to build bypasses." Bypasses are devices which allow some people to drive from pointA to point B very fast whilst other people dash from point B topoint A very fast. People living at point C, being a pointdirectly in between, are often given to wonder what's so greatabout point A that so many people of point B are so keen to getthere, and what's so great about point B that so many people ofpoint A are so keen to get there. They often wish that peoplewould just once and for all work out where the hell they wantedto be. Mr Prosser wanted to be at point D. Point D wasn't anywhere inparticular, it was just any convenient point a very long way frompoints A, B and C. He would have a nice little cottage at pointD, with axes over the door, and spend a pleasant amount of timeat point E, which would be the nearest pub to point D. His wifeof course wanted climbing roses, but he wanted axes. He didn'tknow why - he just liked axes. He flushed hotly under thederisive grins of the bulldozer drivers. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, but it was equallyuncomfortable on each. Obviously somebody had been appallinglyincompetent and he hoped to God it wasn't him. Mr Prosser said: "You were quite entitled to make any suggestionsor protests at the appropriate time you know." "Appropriate time?" hooted Arthur. "Appropriate time? The first Iknew about it was when a workman arrived at my home yesterday. Iasked him if he'd come to clean the windows and he said no he'dcome to demolish the house. He didn't tell me straight away ofcourse. Oh no. First he wiped a couple of windows and charged mea fiver. Then he told me." "But Mr Dent, the plans have been available in the local planningoffice for the last nine month." "Oh yes, well as soon as I heard I went straight round to seethem, yesterday afternoon. You hadn't exactly gone out of yourway to call attention to them had you? I mean like actuallytelling anybody or anything." "But the plans were on display ..." "On display? I eventually had to go down to the cellar to findthem." "That's the display department." "With a torch." "Ah, well the lights had probably gone." "So had the stairs." "But look, you found the notice didn't you?" "Yes," said Arthur, "yes I did. It was on display in the bottomof a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with asign on the door saying Beware of the Leopard." A cloud passed overhead. It cast a shadow over Arthur Dent as helay propped up on his elbow in the cold mud. It cast a shadowover Arthur Dent's house. Mr Prosser frowned at it. "It's not as if it's a particularly nice house," he said. "I'm sorry, but I happen to like it." "You'll like the bypass." "Oh shut up," said Arthur Dent. "Shut up and go away, and takeyour bloody bypass with you. You haven't got a leg to stand onand you know it." Mr Prosser's mouth opened and closed a couple of times while hismind was for a moment filled with inexplicable but terriblyattractive visions of Arthur Dent's house being consumed withfire and Arthur himself running screaming from the blazing ruinwith at least three hefty spears protruding from his back. MrProsser was often bothered with visions like these and they madehim feel very nervous. He stuttered for a moment and then pulledhimself together. "Mr Dent," he said. "Hello? Yes?" said Arthur. "Some factual information for you. Have you any idea how muchdamage that bulldozer would suffer if I just let it roll straightover you?" "How much?" said Arthur. "None at all," said Mr Prosser, and stormed nervously offwondering why his brain was filled with a thousand hairy horsemenall shouting at him. By a curious coincidence, None at all is exactly how muchsuspicion the ape-descendant Arthur Dent had that one of hisclosest friends was not descended from an ape, but was in factfrom a small planet in the vicinity of Betelgeuse and not fromGuildford as he usually claimed. Arthur Dent had never, ever suspected this. This friend of his had first arrived on the planet some fifteenEarth years previously, and he had worked hard to blend himselfinto Earth society - with, it must be said, some success. Forinstance he had spent those fifteen years pretending to be an outof work actor, which was plausible enough. He had made one careless blunder though, because he had skimped abit on his preparatory research. The information he had gatheredhad led him to choose the name "Ford Prefect" as being nicelyinconspicuous. He was not conspicuously tall, his features were striking but notconspicuously handsome. His hair was wiry and gingerish andbrushed backwards from the temples. His skin seemed to be pulledbackwards from the nose. There was something very slightly oddabout him, but it was difficult to say what it was. Perhaps itwas that his eyes didn't blink often enough and when you talkedto him for any length of time your eyes began involuntarily towater on his behalf. Perhaps it was that he smiled slightly toobroadly and gave people the unnerving impression that he wasabout to go for their neck. He struck most of the friends he had made on Earth as aneccentric, but a harmless one -- an unruly boozer with someoddish habits. For instance he would often gatecrash universityparties, get badly drunk and start making fun of anyastrophysicist he could find till he got thrown out. Sometimes he would get seized with oddly distracted moods andstare into the sky as if hypnotized until someone asked him whathe was doing. Then he would start guiltily for a moment, relaxand grin. "Oh, just looking for flying saucers," he would joke and everyonewould laugh and ask him what sort of flying saucers he waslooking for. "Green ones!" he would reply with a wicked grin, laugh wildly fora moment and then suddenly lunge for the nearest bar and buy anenormous round of drinks. Evenings like this usually ended badly. Ford would get out of hisskull on whisky, huddle into a corner with some girl and explainto her in slurred phrases that honestly the colour of the flyingsaucers didn't matter that much really. Thereafter, staggering semi-paralytic down the night streets hewould often ask passing policemen if they knew the way toBetelgeuse. The policemen would usually say something like,"Don't you think it's about time you went off home sir?" "I'm trying to baby, I'm trying to," is what Ford invariablyreplied on these occasions. In fact what he was really looking out for when he stareddistractedly into the night sky was any kind of flying saucer atall. The reason he said green was that green was the traditionalspace livery of the Betelgeuse trading scouts. Ford Prefect was desperate that any flying saucer at all wouldarrive soon because fifteen years was a long time to get strandedanywhere, particularly somewhere as mindboggingly dull as theEarth. Ford wished that a flying saucer would arrive soon because heknew how to flag flying saucers down and get lifts from them. Heknew how to see the Marvels of the Universe for less than thirtyAltairan dollars a day. In fact, Ford Prefect was a roving researcher for that whollyremarkable book The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Human beings are great adaptors, and by lunchtime life in theenvirons of Arthur's house had settled into a steady routine. Itwas Arthur's accepted role to lie squelching in the mud makingoccasional demands to see his lawyer, his mother or a good book;it was Mr Prosser's accepted role to tackle Arthur with theoccasional new ploy such as the For the Public Good talk, theMarch of Progress talk, the They Knocked My House Down Once YouKnow, Never Looked Back talk and various other cajoleries andthreats; and it was the bulldozer drivers' accepted role to sitaround drinking coffee and experimenting with union regulationsto see how they could turn the situation to their financialadvantage. The Earth moved slowly in its diurnal course. The sun was beginning to dry out the mud Arthur lay in. A shadow moved across him again. "Hello Arthur," said the shadow. Arthur looked up and squinting into the sun was startled to seeFord Prefect standing above him. "Ford! Hello, how are you?" "Fine," said Ford, "look, are you busy?" "Am I busy?" exclaimed Arthur. "Well, I've just got all thesebulldozers and things to lie in front of because they'll knock myhouse down if I don't, but other than that ... well, no notespecially, why?" They don't have sarcasm on Betelgeuse, and Ford Prefect oftenfailed to notice it unless he was concentrating. He said, "Good,is there anywhere we can talk?" "What?" said Arthur Dent. For a few seconds Ford seemed to ignore him, and stared fixedlyinto the sky like a rabbit trying to get run over by a car. Thensuddenly he squatted down beside Arthur. "We've got to talk," he said urgently. "Fine," said Arthur, "talk." "And drink," said Ford. "It's vitally important that we talk anddrink. Now. We'll go to the pub in the village." He looked into the sky again, nervous, expectant. "Look, don't you understand?" shouted Arthur. He pointed atProsser. "That man wants to knock my house down!" Ford glanced at him, puzzled. "Well he can do it while you're away can't he?" he asked. "But I don't want him to!" "Ah." "Look, what's the matter with you Ford?" said Arthur. "Nothing. Nothing's the matter. Listen to me - I've got to tellyou the most important thing you've ever heard. I've got to tellyou now, and I've got to tell you in the saloon bar of the Horseand Groom." "But why?" "Because you are going to need a very stiff drink." Ford stared at Arthur, and Arthur was astonished to find that hiswill was beginning to weaken. He didn't realize that this wasbecause of an old drinking game that Ford learned to play in thehyperspace ports that served the madranite mining belts in thestar system of Orion Beta. The game was not unlike the Earth game called Indian Wrestling,and was played like this: Two contestants would sit either side of a table, with a glass infront of each of them. Between them would be placed a bottle of Janx Spirit (asimmortalized in that ancient Orion mining song "Oh don't give menone more of that Old Janx Spirit/ No, don't you give me nonemore of that Old Janx Spirit/ For my head will fly, my tonguewill lie, my eyes will fry and I may die/ Won't you pour me onemore of that sinful Old Janx Spirit"). Each of the two contestants would then concentrate their will onthe bottle and attempt to tip it and pour spirit into the glassof his opponent - who would then have to drink it. The bottle would then be refilled. The game would be playedagain. And again. Once you started to lose you would probably keep losing, becauseone of the effects of Janx spirit is to depress telepsychicpower. As soon as a predetermined quantity had been consumed, the finalloser would have to perform a forfeit, which was usuallyobscenely biological. Ford Prefect usually played to lose. Ford stared at Arthur, who began to think that perhaps he didwant to go to the Horse and Groom after all. "But what about my house ...?" he asked plaintively. Ford looked across to Mr Prosser, and suddenly a wicked thoughtstruck him. "He wants to knock your house down?" "Yes, he wants to build ..." "And he can't because you're lying in front of the bulldozers?" "Yes, and ..." "I'm sure we can come to some arrangement," said Ford. "Excuseme!" he shouted. Mr Prosser (who was arguing with a spokesman for the bulldozerdrivers about whether or not Arthur Dent constituted a mentalhealth hazard, and how much they should get paid if he did)looked around. He was surprised and slightly alarmed to find thatArthur had company. "Yes? Hello?" he called. "Has Mr Dent come to his senses yet?" "Can we for the moment," called Ford, "assume that he hasn't?" "Well?" sighed Mr Prosser. "And can we also assume," said Ford, "that he's going to bestaying here all day?" "So?" "So all your men are going to be standing around all day doingnothing?" "Could be, could be ..." "Well, if you're resigned to doing that anyway, you don'tactually need him to lie here all the time do you?" "What?" "You don't," said Ford patiently, "actually need him here." Mr Prosser thought about this. "Well no, not as such...", he said, "not exactly need ..."Prosser was worried. He thought that one of them wasn't making alot of sense. Ford said, "So if you would just like to take it as read thathe's actually here, then he and I could slip off down to the pubfor half an hour. How does that sound?" Mr Prosser thought it sounded perfectly potty. "That sounds perfectly reasonable," he said in a reassuring toneof voice, wondering who he was trying to reassure. "And if you want to pop off for a quick one yourself later on,"said Ford, "we can always cover up for you in return." "Thank you very much," said Mr Prosser who no longer knew how toplay this at all, "thank you very much, yes, that's very kind..." He frowned, then smiled, then tried to do both at once,failed, grasped hold of his fur hat and rolled it fitfully roundthe top of his head. He could only assume that he had just won. "So," continued Ford Prefect, "if you would just like to comeover here and lie down ..." "What?" said Mr Prosser. "Ah, I'm sorry," said Ford, "perhaps I hadn't made myself fullyclear. Somebody's got to lie in front of the bulldozers haven'tthey? Or there won't be anything to stop them driving into MrDent's house will there?" "What?" said Mr Prosser again. "It's very simple," said Ford, "my client, Mr Dent, says that hewill stop lying here in the mud on the sole condition that youcome and take over from him." "What are you talking about?" said Arthur, but Ford nudged himwith his shoe to be quiet. "You want me," said Mr Prosser, spelling out this new thought tohimself, "to come and lie there ..." "Yes." "In front of the bulldozer?" "Yes." "Instead of Mr Dent." "Yes." "In the mud." "In, as you say it, the mud." As soon as Mr Prosser realized that he was substantially theloser after all, it was as if a weight lifted itself off hisshoulders: this was more like the world as he knew it. He sighed. "In return for which you will take Mr Dent with you down to thepub?" "That's it," said Ford. "That's it exactly." Mr Prosser took a few nervous steps forward and stopped. "Promise?" "Promise," said Ford. He turned to Arthur. "Come on," he said to him, "get up and let the man lie down." Arthur stood up, feeling as if he was in a dream. Ford beckoned to Prosser who sadly, awkwardly, sat down in themud. He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and hesometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoyingit. The mud folded itself round his bottom and his arms and oozedinto his shoes. Ford looked at him severely. "And no sneaky knocking down Mr Dent's house whilst he's away,alright?" he said. "The mere thought," growled Mr Prosser, "hadn't even begun tospeculate," he continued, settling himself back, "about themerest possibility of crossing my mind." He saw the bulldozer driver's union representative approachingand let his head sink back and closed his eyes. He was trying tomarshal his arguments for proving that he did not now constitutea mental health hazard himself. He was far from certain aboutthis - his mind seemed to be full of noise, horses, smoke, andthe stench of blood. This always happened when he felt miserableand put upon, and he had never been able to explain it tohimself. In a high dimension of which we know nothing the mightyKhan bellowed with rage, but Mr Prosser only trembled slightlyand whimpered. He began to fell little pricks of water behind theeyelids. Bureaucratic cock-ups, angry men lying in the mud,indecipherable strangers handing out inexplicable humiliationsand an unidentified army of horsemen laughing at him in his head- what a day. What a day. Ford Prefect knew that it didn't matter a pair ofdingo's kidneys whether Arthur's house got knocked down or notnow. Arthur remained very worried. "But can we trust him?" he said. "Myself I'd trust him to the end of the Earth," said Ford. "Oh yes," said Arthur, "and how far's that?" "About twelve minutes away," said Ford, "come on, I need adrink."
Gravatar #821 - BurningShadow
24. sep. 2002 08:40

#821
Smider du ikke resten af bøgerne her? Ellers gør jeg… Og for at bevise min grusomhed, vil jeg, senere i dag, poste H.E.L.E ”1984”!!!!!!
Gravatar #822 - AphexTwin
24. sep. 2002 09:00
Der gik engang en høne over vejen. Den hed Klaus men det var den nu meget tilfreds med. Pludselig mødte den et halvt kaninbur som blot stod og kiggede på vejen. Så sagde hanen at den skulle flytte sig for ellers kunne han ikke komme forbi. Da Kaninburet hørte dette kaldte den på en hel farm af lidt for overkogte ris der straks ville tage hønen eller hanen i fjerderne og smiden den over bord. Men da skibet sejlede væk nåede de ikke det. Men skidt der var andre muligheder som at spise høns. Men grisen fra østen ville ikke høre tale om sådan noget grisseri selvom den var en gris. Det kunne Kaninerne ikke forstå. Men de levede også i et halvt kaninbur hvilket buret som hed Klaus måske var en smule irreteret over. Da den femte og sidste kom og femte gik igen var de alle glade. For det var lidt meningsløst. Men den sidste lod sig ikke slå ud. Den ville have hanen med til fest i den store gryde. Der hvor rissene faktisk var. Men rissene ville ikke holde fest og grissede sidste til. Så blev grisen sur og blev meget sur. Så gik vejen sin vej for den ville ikke stå model til både slåskamp og åndsvag historie så den gik og gik indtil den kom til en stor by. Her gik den på kro og drak sig helt skæv. Men ude i naturen bor der træer som også ville feste så de spurgte et på fisk der var fanget af en snemandsnæse.De ville gerne med men havde ingen penge. Så tog grisen som stod i gryden sammen med rissene og en halv pose af gammel ost en glas med ymer. Den var lidt tørstig da alt dette skriveri kunne gøre sig træt i fingerne. Men alt med alt så var alle ikke helt galde fordi femte kom tilbage og sagde. Jeg vil være sidst men det vill sidst ikke være med til så den slog femte og gjorde ham til fisk. Men det vill fisk ikke være med til så de tog vejen som dog var væk og gik tilbage til hvor de kom fra. Så stod de samme sted og sagde at de ville gøre det samme igen..........og for at dette skal blive værre så havde jeg glemt mine indianere i køleskabet.
Gravatar #823 - AphexTwin
24. sep. 2002 09:01
1. Der findes ingen 2
Gravatar #824 - AphexTwin
24. sep. 2002 09:07
Har nogen set min hund?.....
Gravatar #825 - Gruesome
24. sep. 2002 09:23
Det var såmænd bare kapitel 1, synes måske det var lidt i overkanten at begynde at poste hele bøger, men kapitel 2 følger i dag PLUS et nyt kapitel hver dag! Action Packed Peewee
Gravatar #826 - /ph
24. sep. 2002 16:39

Eftersom Gruesome ikke har fået fingeren ud, følger her kapitel to..

HHGTTG Chapter 2:
Here's what the Encyloedia Galactica has to say about alcohol. It says that alcohol is is a colorless volatile liquid formed by the fermention of sugars and also notes its intoxication effect on certain carbon-based life forms.
The Hitchhiker's Guide til the Galaxy also mentions alcohol. It says that the best drink in existence is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.
It says that the effect of drinking a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick. The Guide also tells you on which planets the best Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster are mixed, how much you can expect to pay for one and what voluntary organizations exixt to help you rehabilitate aterwards.
The Guide even tells you how you can mix one yourself.
Take the juice from one bottle of Ol- Janx Spirit, it says.
Pour into it one measure of water from the seas of Santraginus V-Oh, that Santraginean seawater, it says. Oh, those Santraginean fish!
Allow three cubes of Arcturan Mega-gin to melt into the mixture (it must be properly iced or the benzine is lost).
Allow four liters of Fallian marsch gas to bubble through it, in memory of all those happy hikers who have died of pleasure in the Marshes of Fallia.
Over the back of a silver spoon float a measure of Qualactin Hypermint exctract, redolent of all the heavyy oders of the dark Qualactin Zones, subtle, sweet and mystic.
Drop in the tooth of an Algolian Suntiger. Watch it dissolve, spreading the fires of the Algolian Suns deep into the heart of the drink.
Sprinkle Zamphuor.
Add an olive.
Brink...but...very carefully...
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxu sells rather better than the Encyclopedia Galactica.

"six pints of bitter, " said Ford Prefect tot the barman of the Horse And Groom. "And quickly please, the world's about to end."
The barman of the Horse And Groom didnøt deserve this sort of treatment; he was a dignified old man. He pushed his glasses up his nose and blinked at Ford Prefect. Ford ignored him and stared out the window, so the barman looked instead at Arthur, who shrugged helplessly and said nothing.
So the barman said, "og yes, sir?Nice weather for it" and started pulling pints.
He tried again. "Going to watch the match tis afternoon then?"
For glanced reound at him
"No, no point," he said, and looked back out the window.
"Whatøs that, foregone clonclusion then, you reckon, sir?" said the barman. "Arsenal without a chance?"
"No no," taid Ford, "it's just that the world's about to end."
"Oh yes, sir, so you said, " said the barman, looking over his glasses this time at Arthur. "Lucky escape for the Arsenal if it did."
Ford looked back at him, genuinely surprised.
"No, not really," he said. He frowned.
The barman breathed in heavily. "There you are, sir, six pints," he said.
Arthur smiled at him wanly and shrugged again. He turned and smiled wanly at the rest of the pub just in case any of them had heard what was going on.
None of them had, and none of them could understand what he was smiling at them for.
A man sitting next to Ford at the bar looked at the two men, looked at the six pints, did a swift burst of mental arithmetic, arrived at an answer he liked and grinned a stupid hopefull grin at them.
"Get off," said Ford, "they're ours,"giving him a look that would have made an Algolian Suntiger get on with what it was doing.
Ford slapped a five-pund note on the bar. He said, "Keep the change,"
"What, from a fiver? Thank you, sir"
"You've got ten minutes left to spend it."
The barman decided simply to walk away for a bit.
"Ford," said Arthur, "would you please tell me what the hell is going on?"
"Drink up," said Ford, "you've got three pints to get through."
"Three pints?" said Arthur. "At lunchtime?"
The man next to Ford grinned an nodded happily. Ford ignored him. He said, "Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so."
"Very deep," said Arthur, "you should send that in to the Reader's Digest. They've gor a page for people like you.
"Drink up."
"Why three pints all of a sudden?"
"Muscle relaxant, you'll need it."
"Muscle relaxant?"
"Muscle relaxant."
Arthur stared into his beer.
"Dd i do anything wrong today," he said, "or has the world always been like this and I've been too wrapped up n myself to notice?"
"All right," said Ford, "I'll try to explain. How long have we known each other?"
"How long?" Arthur thought. "Er, about five years, maybe six," he said. "Most of it seemed to make some kind of sense at the time."
"All right," said Ford. "How would you react of I said that I'm not from Guildford after all, but from a small planet somwwhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse?"
Arthur shrugged in a so-so sort of way.
"I don't know," he said, taking a pull of beer. "Why, do you think it's the sort of thing you're likely to say?"
Ford gave up. It really wasn't worth bothering at the moment, what with the world being about to end. He just said, "Drink up."
He added, perfectly factually, "The world's about to end."
Arthur gave the rest of the pub another wan smile. The rest of the pub frowned at him. A man waved to stop smiling at them and mind his own buisness.
"This must be Thursday," said Arthur to himself, sinking low over his beer. "I never could get the hang of Thursdays."
Gravatar #827 - Gruesome
24. sep. 2002 18:12
Pfft, så får i sq bare chapter 3 i dag, chapter 2 er jo heller ikke så langt

On this particular Thursday, something was moving quietly throughthe ionosphere many miles above the surface of the planet;several somethings in fact, several dozen huge yellow chunkyslablike somethings, huge as office buildings, silent as birds.They soared with ease, basking in electromagnetic rays from thestar Sol, biding their time, grouping, preparing. The planet beneath them was almost perfectly oblivious of theirpresence, which was just how they wanted it for the moment. Thehuge yellow somethings went unnoticed at Goonhilly, they passedover Cape Canaveral without a blip, Woomera and Jodrell Banklooked straight through them - which was a pity because it wasexactly the sort of thing they'd been looking for all theseyears. The only place they registered at all was on a small black devicecalled a Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic which winked away quietly toitself. It nestled in the darkness inside a leather satchel whichFord Prefect wore habitually round his neck. The contents of FordPrefect's satchel were quite interesting in fact and would havemade any Earth physicist's eyes pop out of his head, which is whyhe always concealed them by keeping a couple of dog-eared scriptsfor plays he pretended he was auditioning for stuffed in the top.Besides the Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic and the scripts he had anElectronic Thumb - a short squat black rod, smooth and matt witha couple of flat switches and dials at one end; he also had adevice which looked rather like a largish electronic calculator.This had about a hundred tiny flat press buttons and a screenabout four inches square on which any one of a million "pages"could be summoned at a moment's notice. It looked insanelycomplicated, and this was one of the reasons why the snug plasticcover it fitted into had the words Don't Panic printed on it inlarge friendly letters. The other reason was that this device wasin fact that most remarkable of all books ever to come out of thegreat publishing corporations of Ursa Minor - The Hitch Hiker'sGuide to the Galaxy. The reason why it was published in the formof a micro sub meson electronic component is that if it wereprinted in normal book form, an interstellar hitch hiker wouldrequire several inconveniently large buildings to carry it aroundin. Beneath that in Ford Prefect's satchel were a few biros, anotepad, and a largish bath towel from Marks and Spencer. The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy has a few things to say onthe subject of towels. A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing aninterstellar hitch hiker can have. Partly it has great practicalvalue - you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound acrossthe cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliantmarble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady seavapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine soredly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a miniraft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes orto avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (amindboggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it,it can't see you - daft as a bush, but very ravenous); you canwave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and ofcourse dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be cleanenough. More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. Forsome reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that ahitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assumethat he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel,soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnatspray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, thestrag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or adozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have"lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitchthe length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggleagainst terrible odds, win through, and still knows where histowel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with. Hence a phrase which has passed into hitch hiking slang, as in"Hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There's a frood whoreally knows where his towel is." (Sass: know, be aware of, meet,have sex with; hoopy: really together guy; frood: reallyamazingly together guy.) Nestling quietly on top of the towel in Ford Prefect's satchel,the Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic began to wink more quickly. Miles abovethe surface of the planet the huge yellow somethings began to fanout. At Jodrell Bank, someone decided it was time for a nicerelaxing cup of tea. "You got a towel with you?" said Ford Prefect suddenly to Arthur. Arthur, struggling through his third pint, looked round at him. "Why? What, no ... should I have?" He had given up beingsurprised, there didn't seem to be any point any longer. Ford clicked his tongue in irritation. "Drink up," he urged. At that moment the dull sound of a rumbling crash from outsidefiltered through the low murmur of the pub, through the sound ofthe jukebox, through the sound of the man next to Ford hiccuppingover the whisky Ford had eventually bought him. Arthur choked on his beer, leapt to his feet. "What's that?" he yelped. "Don't worry," said Ford, "they haven't started yet." "Thank God for that," said Arthur and relaxed. "It's probably just your house being knocked down," said Ford,drowning his last pint. "What?" shouted Arthur. Suddenly Ford's spell was broken. Arthurlooked wildly around him and ran to the window. "My God they are! They're knocking my house down. What the hellam I doing in the pub, Ford?" "It hardly makes any difference at this stage," said Ford, "letthem have their fun." "Fun?" yelped Arthur. "Fun!" He quickly checked out of the windowagain that they were talking about the same thing. "Damn their fun!" he hooted and ran out of the pub furiouslywaving a nearly empty beer glass. He made no friends at all inthe pub that lunchtime. "Stop, you vandals! You home wreckers!" bawled Arthur. "You halfcrazed Visigoths, stop will you!" Ford would have to go after him. Turning quickly to the barman heasked for four packets of peanuts. "There you are sir," said the barman, slapping the packets on thebar, "twenty-eight pence if you'd be so kind." Ford was very kind - he gave the barman another five-pound noteand told him to keep the change. The barman looked at it and thenlooked at Ford. He suddenly shivered: he experienced a momentarysensation that he didn't understand because no one on Earth hadever experienced it before. In moments of great stress, everylife form that exists gives out a tiny sublimal signal. Thissignal simply communicates an exact and almost pathetic sense ofhow far that being is from the place of his birth. On Earth it isnever possible to be further than sixteen thousand miles fromyour birthplace, which really isn't very far, so such signals aretoo minute to be noticed. Ford Prefect was at this moment undergreat stress, and he was born 600 light years away in the nearvicinity of Betelgeuse. The barman reeled for a moment, hit by a shocking,incomprehensible sense of distance. He didn't know what it meant,but he looked at Ford Prefect with a new sense of respect, almostawe. "Are you serious, sir?" he said in a small whisper which had theeffect of silencing the pub. "You think the world's going toend?" "Yes," said Ford. "But, this afternoon?" Ford had recovered himself. He was at his flippest. "Yes," he said gaily, "in less than two minutes I wouldestimate." The barman couldn't believe the conversation he was having, buthe couldn't believe the sensation he had just had either. "Isn't there anything we can do about it then?" he said. "No, nothing," said Ford, stuffing the peanuts into his pockets. Someone in the hushed bar suddenly laughed raucously at howstupid everyone had become. The man sitting next to Ford was a bit sozzled by now. His eyeswaved their way up to Ford. "I thought," he said, "that if the world was going to end we weremeant to lie down or put a paper bag over our head or something." "If you like, yes," said Ford. "That's what they told us in the army," said the man, and hiseyes began the long trek back down to his whisky. "Will that help?" asked the barman. "No," said Ford and gave him a friendly smile. "Excuse me," hesaid, "I've got to go." With a wave, he left. The pub was silent for a moment longer, and then, embarrassinglyenough, the man with the raucous laugh did it again. The girl hehad dragged along to the pub with him had grown to loathe himdearly over the last hour or so, and it would probably have beena great satisfaction to her to know that in a minute and a halfor so he would suddenly evaporate into a whiff of hydrogen, ozoneand carbon monoxide. However, when the moment came she would betoo busy evaporating herself to notice it. The barman cleared his throat. He heard himself say: "Last orders, please." The huge yellow machines began to sink downward and to movefaster. Ford knew they were there. This wasn't the way he had wanted it. Running up the lane, Arthur had nearly reached his house. Hedidn't notice how cold it had suddenly become, he didn't noticethe wind, he didn't notice the sudden irrational squall of rain.He didn't notice anything but the caterpillar bulldozers crawlingover the rubble that had been his home. "You barbarians!" he yelled. "I'll sue the council for everypenny it's got! I'll have you hung, drawn and quartered! Andwhipped! And boiled ... until ... until ... until you've hadenough." Ford was running after him very fast. Very very fast. "And then I'll do it again!" yelled Arthur. "And when I'vefinished I will take all the little bits, and I will jump onthem!" Arthur didn't notice that the men were running from thebulldozers; he didn't notice that Mr Prosser was staringhectically into the sky. What Mr Prosser had noticed was thathuge yellow somethings were screaming through the clouds.Impossibly huge yellow somethings. "And I will carry on jumping on them," yelled Arthur, stillrunning, "until I get blisters, or I can think of anything evenmore unpleasant to do, and then ..." Arthur tripped, and fell headlong, rolled and landed flat on hisback. At last he noticed that something was going on. His fingershot upwards. "What the hell's that?" he shrieked. Whatever it was raced across the sky in monstrous yellowness,tore the sky apart with mind-buggering noise and leapt off intothe distance leaving the gaping air to shut behind it with a bangthat drove your ears six feet into your skull. Another one followed and did the same thing only louder. It's difficult to say exactly what the people on the surface ofthe planet were doing now, because they didn't really know whatthey were doing themselves. None of it made a lot of sense -running into houses, running out of houses, howling noiselesslyat the noise. All around the world city streets exploded withpeople, cars slewed into each other as the noise fell on them andthen rolled off like a tidal wave over hills and valleys, desertsand oceans, seeming to flatten everything it hit. Only one man stood and watched the sky, stood with terriblesadness in his eyes and rubber bungs in his ears. He knew exactlywhat was happening and had known ever since his Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic had started winking in the dead of night beside his pillarand woken him with a start. It was what he had waited for allthese years, but when he had deciphered the signal patternsitting alone in his small dark room a coldness had gripped himand squeezed his heart. Of all the races in all of the Galaxy whocould have come and said a big hello to planet Earth, he thought,didn't it just have to be the Vogons. Still he knew what he had to do. As the Vogon craft screamedthrough the air high above him he opened his satchel. He threwaway a copy of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, hethrew away a copy of Godspell: He wouldn't need them where he wasgoing. Everything was ready, everything was prepared. He knew where his towel was. A sudden silence hit the Earth. If anything it was worse than thenoise. For a while nothing happened. The great ships hung motionless in the air, over every nation onEarth. Motionless they hung, huge, heavy, steady in the sky, ablasphemy against nature. Many people went straight into shock astheir minds tried to encompass what they were looking at. Theships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't. And still nothing happened. Then there was a slight whisper, a sudden spacious whisper ofopen ambient sound. Every hi fi set in the world, every radio,every television, every cassette recorder, every woofer, everytweeter, every mid-range driver in the world quietly turneditself on. Every tin can, every dust bin, every window, every car, everywine glass, every sheet of rusty metal became activated as anacoustically perfect sounding board. Before the Earth passed away it was going to be treated to thevery ultimate in sound reproduction, the greatest public addresssystem ever built. But there was no concert, no music, nofanfare, just a simple message. "People of Earth, your attention please," a voice said, and itwas wonderful. Wonderful perfect quadrophonic sound withdistortion levels so low as to make a brave man weep. "This is Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz of the Galactic HyperspacePlanning Council," the voice continued. "As you will no doubt beaware, the plans for development of the outlying regions of theGalaxy require the building of a hyperspatial express routethrough your star system, and regrettably your planet is one ofthose scheduled for demolition. The process will take slightlyless that two of your Earth minutes. Thank you." The PA died away. Uncomprehending terror settled on the watching people of Earth.The terror moved slowly through the gathered crowds as if theywere iron fillings on a sheet of board and a magnet was movingbeneath them. Panic sprouted again, desperate fleeing panic, butthere was nowhere to flee to. Observing this, the Vogons turned on their PA again. It said: "There's no point in acting all surprised about it. All theplanning charts and demolition orders have been on display inyour local planning department on Alpha Centauri for fifty ofyour Earth years, so you've had plenty of time to lodge anyformal complaint and it's far too late to start making a fussabout it now." The PA fell silent again and its echo drifted off across theland. The huge ships turned slowly in the sky with easy power. Onthe underside of each a hatchway opened, an empty black space. By this time somebody somewhere must have manned a radiotransmitter, located a wavelength and broadcasted a message backto the Vogon ships, to plead on behalf of the planet. Nobody everheard what they said, they only heard the reply. The PA slammedback into life again. The voice was annoyed. It said: "What do you mean you've never been to Alpha Centauri? Forheaven's sake mankind, it's only four light years away you know.I'm sorry, but if you can't be bothered to take an interest inlocal affairs that's your own lookout. "Energize the demolition beams." Light poured out into the hatchways. "I don't know," said the voice on the PA, "apathetic bloodyplanet, I've no sympathy at all." It cut off. There was a terrible ghastly silence. There was a terrible ghastly noise. There was a terrible ghastly silence. The Vogon Constructor fleet coasted away into the inky starryvoid.
Gravatar #828 - halal
24. sep. 2002 19:01
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Gravatar #829 - SnoTz
25. sep. 2002 12:32
Hva' fanden sker der? er tråden ved at død????
Gravatar #830 - Raenil
25. sep. 2002 12:52
Den tager så lang tid at loade nu, at folk ikke gider vente på den mere...
Gravatar #831 - T-Hawk
25. sep. 2002 15:07
sorry har ikke været på nettet.. vil kommer tilbage mindst en gang om dage og poste MINDST en post!!!

Er vi ikke allesammen glade nu fordi BlackHawk holder liv i tråden???
Gravatar #832 - BurningShadow
25. sep. 2002 15:32
Jo BH der er vi...
Gravatar #833 - Gruesome
25. sep. 2002 17:29
Chapter 4 Far away on the opposite spiral arm of the Galaxy, five hundredthousand light years from the star Sol, Zaphod Beeblebrox,President of the Imperial Galactic Government, sped across theseas of Damogran, his ion drive delta boat winking and flashingin the Damogran sun. Damogran the hot; Damogran the remote; Damogran the almosttotally unheard of. Damogran, secret home of the Heart of Gold. The boat sped on across the water. It would be some time beforeit reached its destination because Damogran is such aninconveniently arranged planet. It consists of nothing butmiddling to large desert islands separated by very pretty butannoyingly wide stretches of ocean. The boat sped on. Because of this topological awkwardness Damogran has alwaysremained a deserted planet. This is why the Imperial GalacticGovernment chose Damogran for the Heart of Gold project, becauseit was so deserted and the Heart of Gold was so secret. The boat zipped and skipped across the sea, the sea that laybetween the main islands of the only archipelago of any usefulsize on the whole planet. Zaphod Beeblebrox was on his way fromthe tiny spaceport on Easter Island (the name was an entirelymeaningless coincidence - in Galacticspeke, easter means smallflat and light brown) to the Heart of Gold island, which byanother meaningless coincidence was called France. One of the side effects of work on the Heart of Gold was a wholestring of pretty meaningless coincidences. But it was not in any way a coincidence that today, the day ofculmination of the project, the great day of unveiling, the daythat the Heart of Gold was finally to be introduced to amarvelling Galaxy, was also a great day of culmination for ZaphodBeeblebrox. It was for the sake of this day that he had firstdecided to run for the Presidency, a decision which had sentwaves of astonishment throughout the Imperial Galaxy - ZaphodBeeblebrox? President? Not the Zaphod Beeblebrox? Not thePresident? Many had seen it as a clinching proof that the wholeof known creation had finally gone bananas. Zaphod grinned and gave the boat an extra kick of speed. Zaphod Beeblebrox, adventurer, ex-hippy, good timer, (crook?quite possibly), manic self-publicist, terribly bad at personalrelationships, often thought to be completely out to lunch. President? No one had gone bananas, not in that way at least. Only six people in the entire Galaxy understood the principle onwhich the Galaxy was governed, and they knew that once ZaphodBeeblebrox had announced his intention to run as President it wasmore or less a fait accompli: he was the ideal Presidencyfodder*. What they completely failed to understand was why Zaphod wasdoing it. He banked sharply, shooting a wild wall of water at the sun. Today was the day; today was the day when they would realize whatZaphod had been up to. Today was what Zaphod Beeblebrox'sPresidency was all about. Today was also his two hundredthbirthday, but that was just another meaningless coincidence. As he skipped his boat across the seas of Damogran he smiledquietly to himself about what a wonderful exciting day it wasgoing to be. He relaxed and spread his two arms lazily across theseat back. He steered with an extra arm he'd recently fitted justbeneath his right one to help improve his ski-boxing. "Hey," he cooed to himself, "you're a real cool boy you." But hisnerves sang a song shriller than a dog whistle. The island of France was about twenty miles long, five milesacross the middle, sandy and crescent shaped. In fact it seemedto exist not so much as an island in its own right as simply ameans of defining the sweep and curve of a huge bay. Thisimpression was heightened by the fact that the inner coastline ofthe crescent consisted almost entirely of steep cliffs. From thetop of the cliff the land sloped slowly down five miles to theopposite shore. On top of the cliffs stood a reception committee. It consisted in large part of the engineers and researchers whohad built the Heart of Gold - mostly humanoid, but here and therewere a few reptiloid atomineers, two or three green slyph-likemaximegalacticans, an octopoid physucturalist or two and aHooloovoo (a Hooloovoo is a super-intelligent shade of the colorblue). All except the Hooloovoo were resplendent in their multi-colored ceremonial lab coats; the Hooloovoo had been temporarilyrefracted into a free standing prism for the occasion. There was a mood of immense excitement thrilling through all ofthem. Together and between them they had gone to and beyond thefurthest limits of physical laws, restructured the fundamentalfabric of matter, strained, twisted and broken the laws ofpossibility and impossibility, but still the greatest excitementof all seemed to be to meet a man with an orange sash round hisneck. (An orange sash was what the President of the Galaxytraditionally wore.) It might not even have made much differenceto them if they'd known exactly how much power the President ofthe Galaxy actually wielded: none at all. Only six people in theGalaxy knew that the job of the Galactic President was not towield power but to attract attention away from it. Zaphod Beeblebrox was amazingly good at his job. The crowd gasped, dazzled by sun and seemanship, as thePresidential speedboat zipped round the headland into the bay. Itflashed and shone as it came skating over the sea in wideskidding turns. In fact it didn't need to touch the water at all, because it wassupported on a hazy cushion of ionized atoms - but just foreffect it was fitted with thin finblades which could be loweredinto the water. They slashed sheets of water hissing into theair, carved deep gashes into the sea which swayed crazily andsank back foaming into the boat's wake as it careered across thebay. Zaphod loved effect: it was what he was best at. He twisted the wheel sharply, the boat slewed round in a wildscything skid beneath the cliff face and dropped to rest lightlyon the rocking waves. Within seconds he ran out onto the deck and waved and grinned atover three billion people. The three billion people weren'tactually there, but they watched his every gesture through theeyes of a small robot tri-D camera which hovered obsequiously inthe air nearby. The antics of the President always made amazinglypopular tri-D; that's what they were for. He grinned again. Three billion and six people didn't know it,but today would be a bigger antic than anyone had bargained for. The robot camera homed in for a close up on the more popular ofhis two heads and he waved again. He was roughly humanoid inappearance except for the extra head and third arm. His fairtousled hair stuck out in random directions, his blue eyesglinted with something completely unidentifiable, and his chinswere almost always unshaven. A twenty-foot-high transparent globe floated next to his boat,rolling and bobbing, glistening in the brilliant sun. Inside itfloated a wide semi-circular sofa upholstered in glorious redleather: the more the globe bobbed and rolled, the more the sofastayed perfectly still, steady as an upholstered rock. Again, alldone for effect as much as anything. Zaphod stepped through the wall of the globe and relaxed on thesofa. He spread his two arms lazily along the back and with thethird brushed some dust off his knee. His heads looked about,smiling; he put his feet up. At any moment, he thought, he mightscream. Water boiled up beneath the bubble, it seethed and spouted. Thebubble surged into the air, bobbing and rolling on the waterspout. Up, up it climbed, throwing stilts of light at the cliff.Up it surged on the jet, the water falling from beneath it,crashing back into the sea hundreds of feet below. Zaphod smiled, picturing himself. A thoroughly ridiculous form of transport, but a thoroughlybeautiful one. At the top of the cliff the globe wavered for a moment, tipped onto a railed ramp, rolled down it to a small concave platform andriddled to a halt. To tremendous applause Zaphod Beeblebrox stepped out of thebubble, his orange sash blazing in the light. The President of the Galaxy had arrived. He waited for the applause to die down, then raised his hands ingreeting. "Hi," he said. A government spider sidled up to him and attempted to press acopy of his prepared speech into his hands. Pages three to sevenof the original version were at the moment floating soggily onthe Damogran sea some five miles out from the bay. Pages one andtwo had been salvaged by a Damogran Frond Crested Eagle and hadalready become incorporated into an extraordinary new form ofnest which the eagle had invented. It was constructed largely ofpapier <A href="mailto:m@ch">m@ch</A>@ and it was virtually impossible for a newly hatchedbaby eagle to break out of it. The Damogran Frond Crested Eaglehad heard of the notion of survival of the species but wanted notruck with it. Zaphod Beeblebrox would not be needing his set speech and hegently deflected the one being offered him by the spider. "Hi," he said again. Everyone beamed at him, or, at least, nearly everyone. He singledout Trillian from the crowd. Trillian was a gird that Zaphod hadpicked up recently whilst visiting a planet, just for fun,incognito. She was slim, darkish, humanoid, with long waves ofblack hair, a full mouth, an odd little nob of a nose andridiculously brown eyes. With her red head scarf knotted in thatparticular way and her long flowing silky brown dress she lookedvaguely Arabic. Not that anyone there had ever heard of an Arabof course. The Arabs had very recently ceased to exist, and evenwhen they had existed they were five hundred thousand light yearsfrom Damogran. Trillian wasn't anybody in particular, or soZaphod claimed. She just went around with him rather a lot andtold him what she thought of him. "Hi honey," he said to her. She flashed him a quick tight smile and looked away. Then shelooked back for a moment and smiled more warmly - but by thistime he was looking at something else. "Hi," he said to a small knot of creatures from the press whowere standing nearby wishing that he would stop saying Hi and geton with the quotes. He grinned at them particularly because heknew that in a few moments he would be giving them one hell of aquote. The next thing he said though was not a lot of use to them. Oneof the officials of the party had irritably decided that thePresident was clearly not in a mood to read the deliciouslyturned speech that had been written for him, and had flipped theswitch on the remote control device in his pocket. Away in frontof them a huge white dome that bulged against the sky crackeddown in the middle, split, and slowly folded itself down into theground. Everyone gasped although they had known perfectly well itwas going to do that because they had built it that way. Beneath it lay uncovered a huge starship, one hundred and fiftymetres long, shaped like a sleek running shoe, perfectly whiteand mindboggingly beautiful. At the heart of it, unseen, lay asmall gold box which carried within it the most brain-wretchingdevice ever conceived, a device which made this starship uniquein the history of the galaxy, a device after which the ship hadbeen named - The Heart of Gold. "Wow", said Zaphod Beeblebrox to the Heart of Gold. There wasn'tmuch else he could say. He said it again because he knew it would annoy the press. "Wow." The crowd turned their faces back towards him expectantly. Hewinked at Trillian who raised her eyebrows and widened her eyesat him. She knew what he was about to say and thought him aterrible showoff. "That is really amazing," he said. "That really is truly amazing.That is so amazingly amazing I think I'd like to steal it." A marvellous Presidential quote, absolutely true to form. Thecrowd laughed appreciatively, the newsmen gleefully punchedbuttons on their Sub-Etha News-Matics and the President grinned. As he grinned his heart screamed unbearably and he fingered thesmall Paralyso-Matic bomb that nestled quietly in his pocket. Finally he could bear it no more. He lifted his heads up to thesky, let out a wild whoop in major thirds, threw the bomb to theground and ran forward through the sea of suddenly frozen smiles.



Og det konkludere dagens kapitel af "Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy"
Gravatar #834 - grav
25. sep. 2002 18:03
YES! Indlæg nr. 835!!!
Damn, hvor er jeg lykkelig nu!
Gravatar #835 - Gruesome
25. sep. 2002 18:07
Fark, så da lige jeg havde fået 805 (Bøs på l33t sp3ak) :C Pis, nu er min dag ødelagt..
Gravatar #836 - Bobby
25. sep. 2002 20:08
hvor er min vasketøjskurv blevet af?
Gravatar #837 - Bobby
25. sep. 2002 20:08
<STRONG>Top 10</STRONG>

1. Bladlus
2. Kristen Poulsen
3. De der i ved, som man bruger til et eller andet.
4. nr 8
5. Klemmelus
7. Poul Nyrup
6. Klapstole
8. Lotto
9. (mangler pga. sygdom)
10. Jytte Hilden

<STRONG>Vise ord:</STRONG>

<STRONG>Man skal ikke slå større bagere ned end man kan bolle!!</STRONG>
<STRONG></STRONG>
<STRONG>BR'S Tv program:</STRONG>
<STRONG></STRONG>
07.00 Nuhedsmorgen (Lavet for at få dig til at falde i søvn igen)
09.30 Pause: med Tekst-Wc og radioprogrammer
11.00 De svenske klipper - endnu et af de utallige kedlige programmer, som er lånt fra sveriges tv.
12.00 Wc-avis
12.30 Natten direkte (g) vi havde ikke lige andet at sende på dette tidspungt
13.00 Nuhedsmagasinet (g) nuheder vi ikke kunne få plads til i wc-avisen
13.30 En eller anden genudsendelse fra i går
14.00 En eller anden anden genudsendelse fra i går
15.00 Boggy: Ungdomsprogram med musik og fis
16.00 Braller-cutta: Børne og ungdoms "onde"holdning
- Ozzy og klakalakkerne
- Et eller andet svensk lort vi har stjålet fra sverige1
- Søren spjætte (genudsendes for gud ved hvilken gang)
- Grogz: modelervoksfigure der smadre hinanden
18.00 Bjørnetime
18.30 Wc-avisen
19.00 natten direkte
19.30 Lægens hor
20.00 På besøg i zoo: Når aben klør sig i r....
20.30 Rabotten - forbruerprogram med Henrik Gal
21.00 Wc-avisen
21.21 pungemagasinet (ingen kommentare)
21.45 Lorten: Dagens lortsbegivenheder
22.00 Film: Blinkende rygter
23.45 Dokumentar: Sene dokumentarudsendelsers liggyldighed, da ingen gider se dem alligevel.
00.15 Southparrk: Den der hvor Cartman bliver lesbisk stripper og hans mor voldtager kokken
00.45 Boggy (g)
01.45 Slut
Gravatar #838 - Bobby
25. sep. 2002 20:09
hva skal jeg sige.......Boller fra koberg
Gravatar #839 - frebsen
25. sep. 2002 23:37
Synes lige jeg ville sige noget....


Tis
Gravatar #840 - frebsen
25. sep. 2002 23:37
Synes lige jeg ville sige noget....


Tis
Gravatar #841 - Bobby
26. sep. 2002 12:02
<STRONG>Top 10:</STRONG>

1. Frode Munksgård
2. Ildfluen
3. Maske
4. Kleptoman
5. Sol
6. nr 8
7. (Kan ikke lige huske hvem der er nummer 7)
8. regnorm
9. Tyggegummi kongen bobbel
10. (censureret)

<STRONG>Vise ord:</STRONG>
<STRONG></STRONG>
<STRONG>Kast ikke med spyd når du selv bor i et stråhus</STRONG>
<STRONG></STRONG>
<STRONG>Tv program for BR2</STRONG>
<STRONG></STRONG>
17.00 dutline
17.20 gylle time (alt muligt gammelt lort)
18.00 Et eller andet protrætprogram
19.00 Et eller andet dokumentarprogram
20.00 Temaaften: Nakskov i 50'erne
23.00 dutline
23.20 Southpark - den der hvor de spanker hinanden og alle sammen har sex med en gris.
23.50 Genudsendelse af et ugeaktuelt satireprogram der var sjov dengang den blev sendt forrige år.
00.20 Kedlige kortfilm
01.00 Slut
Gravatar #842 - Bobby
26. sep. 2002 12:15
Jeg spørger lige igen... HVOR ER MIN VASKETØJSKURV?????
Gravatar #843 - Bobby
26. sep. 2002 12:16
Gammelt kål!!!!!
Gravatar #844 - Bobby
26. sep. 2002 12:17
Super musen magnus tagmus
Gravatar #845 - Bobby
26. sep. 2002 12:17
Super musen magnus tagmus
Gravatar #846 - Bobby
26. sep. 2002 12:17
Super musen magnus tagmus
Gravatar #847 - Bobby
26. sep. 2002 12:17
Super musen magnus tagmus
Gravatar #848 - Bobby
26. sep. 2002 12:17
Super musen magnus tagmus
Gravatar #849 - Bobby
26. sep. 2002 12:17
Super musen magnus tagmus
Gravatar #850 - Bobby
26. sep. 2002 12:17
Super musen magnus tagmus
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